Indisposed
by lionesseyes13
Summary: My somewhat humorous take on why Raoul no longer drinks.


Author's Note: This is my somewhat humorous take on why Raoul doesn't drink any more. The idea came to me, and it wouldn't loosen its talons on me until I typed this up, so consider that your warning.

Disclaimer: I am not Tamora Pierce, but because I am generous I will allow you another opportunity to guess my identity.

Reviews: Review and you'll get some cyberspace wine as a tribute if you remember to nag me about it.

Indisposed

Raoul sat up, groaning as he did so. Obviously, the fermented grape juice packed a bigger punch than he expected when he drank it last night. As he struggled to his feet, he realized that he was about to empty the contents of his stomach and snatched the washing bowl off his nightstand as quickly as he was able, which unfortunately wasn't fast enough.

As he sat there, staring down at the puddle of vomit, he grimaced, glad that his squire wasn't here to witness his humiliation, even if he could probably hear was what going on in the next room just fine. It was bad enough that Raoul had thrown up; it would have been far worse if he had been sick in front of Douglass. Now he had to gather the strength from somewhere to clean up this mess before his squire came in to investigate what had happened.

He kept telling himself that he was a knight, and surely a bit of fermented fruit juice couldn't bring him to his knees. His brain heard his words just fine, but his body still refused to cooperate and sat on the bed, remaining very still so that another bout of nausea could pass.

As he let his head fall back against the wall, he noticed that not only did he feel like his head had been trampled over by a herd of horses, but he now felt increasingly chilled. He raised one shaky hand to his forehead, and it seemed hot to him. Yet, it was so hard to tell if you had a fever when trying to diagnose yourself, he thought vaguely as he wondered if he couldn't sleep for a while longer with the pool of vomit right there on the floor.

No, that wouldn't do. He pushed himself out of bed with a prodigious effort. Then, he waited a moment to see if his stomach was going to launch a protest against the movement. When it didn't, he hobbled in the direction of the jug of water on his dresser.

The wall kindly supported him as he stumbled along, feeling like the world as he knew it had split into three parallel planes of existence. The cool surface of the stone wall against his overheated flesh felt wonderful, which meant he was definitely feverish. As his brain managed to work through the fog engulfing it long enough to reach this conclusion, he sighed in resignation. Now he would have to pay a visit to the healers and put himself at the mercy of those well-intentioned souls. Gods help him.

Finally, he wobbled over to the dresser and snatched up the water jug and a towel. How he found the strength to clean up his mess he was never quite sure, but he got the task done, and just in time, too. No sooner had he disposed of the fouled towel than he heard the door to his bedchamber swing open.

Upon entering, Douglass wrinkled his nose at the foul odor permeating the room, but his distaste was forgotten when he saw how pale his knightmaster looked. He rushed forward, asking anxiously, "Sir, what's wrong?"

To Raoul, the words were as loud as clanging bells and almost as annoying. "Gods, Squire, keep your voice down. You don't need to alert the whole palace that I am indisposed."

Douglass blinked at the rebuke, appearing as if he didn't think his voice had been all that loud. His puzzlement faded when he glimpsed the empty wine bottle laying on his knightmaster's nightstand, however, and he burst out laughing.

Raoul winced at the sound, but his head was pounding far too hard for him to form the words to chastise his very noisy and insolent squire.

"You're drunk," Douglass pronounced, his shoulders still quaking with mirth.

"I'm sick, Douglass. I should think that is obvious," grumbled Raoul, as he stumbled back into his bed, leaning on his squire, rather than the wall for support this time.

"You're also grumpy, but that's nothing new, sir," Douglass muttered under his breath.

"You'll be sorry for that when I'm feeling better." Raoul's words were muffled since he had rolled over and buried his face in his pillow.

"I'll worry about that when you're better," Douglass said, nonchalant.

"I'm sure the servants need plenty of help cleaning out the latrines." Raoul's promise of retribution made his squire wince, but he didn't see it because he had put the pillow over his head.

"I'll go to the healers and have them send someone here," Douglass said. "I don't think you're in any shape to make the walk over there."

A loud groan was the only response from his knightmaster.

"I guess it's just your bad luck to get sick the day after drinking a bottle of wine," added a smirking Douglass.

"You're worse than Alan. I know you're laughing at me, Squire."

"Not me, sir," Douglass reassured him rather unconvincingly. "I would never laugh at you."

"I have a brain, you know. You can't lie to me," rasped Raoul and mentally added a sore throat to the list of his symptoms.

"Of course not, sir. I wouldn't even attempt to do so."

"Maybe Duke Gareth needs someone to serve as a sheath for his sword as well," Raoul grunted.

If this threat was meant to intimidate Douglass, it didn't have its desired impact, for all Douglass did was laugh again. In response, Raoul's hand rose to protect his ears from the shrill sound.

"I'll remember this, Douglass, see if I don't." He peered balefully at his squire with one glazed eye from underneath his pillow.

"If you happen to forget I'll remind you," Douglass promised slyly. "I'll also remind you that overindulging in wine is unwise, especially if you're planning on getting sick."

"That's just cruel." Raoul's head was throbbing worse than ever, and he was wishing that his squire would leave him to his misery, so that he would have just a little less of a headache once the young man's impertinence was gone. Sighing deeply, he demanded pointedly, "Aren't you supposed to be fetching a healer?"

"Of course, sir. I'll do that right now," Douglass assured him, and Raoul heard his feet smacking against the floor as he made his way toward the door.

A sudden thought entered his mind and he said as loudly as he could with a husky throat, "Douglass?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Um, you might want to have a healer check with Gareth the Younger, as well. I think I'm contagious." Raoul struggled to sound casual.

"Yes, sir. I'll be sure to mention that to the healers." Douglass's snicker suggested that he hadn't succeeded in this endeavor.

"I hope you catch it, too," Raoul grumbled, not even certain if Douglass was in the room anymore and not particularly caring in his stare. "Bet that wiped the smirk off your face, didn't it?"


End file.
